


cause you were never mine

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, daisy's just a hungry undergrad honestly, phil and mel are some very big cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: “You know someone having sex dreams about their best friend?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyone I know of in particular?”Yeah, she’s sitting right across from you here at the diner,Melinda wanted to shoot back, but pursed her lips into a thin line instead, reopening the paper to read what Abby’d written back.Or, Melinda's sex dreams about Phil are getting out of hand. Just a little bit.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 21
Kudos: 67





	cause you were never mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrokenBookAddict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenBookAddict/gifts).



> written for the prompt combo "is it normal to have sex dreams about your best friend?" + "i tried so hard not to fall in love with you...i failed" -- thanks for the prompt! 
> 
> also i have to give the _biggest _shoutout to[Sanctuaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria) for beta-ing this, because i have absolutely no idea what would've been of it if she hadn't come in and read me to rights on it. if you liked any part of this it was probably because of her. go read her works -- you will cry at more than one, i guarantee you.__

_Dear Abby,_

_You know how so many stories end with the girl falling in love with her best friend? That's where this one starts. Except the girl doesn't get the happy ending, she gets to watch her best friend fall in love with another woman. My best friend's got a serious longtime girlfriend that's perfect for him, honestly -- but the problem isn't that I'm in love with him. No, the problem is that I'm having dreams about him. And not regular dreams, either. Sex dreams. Like, hot, sweaty, realistic sex dreams._

_As depressing as it sounds, I could live with the fact that I'll never get to date him. I could live with the fact that I'll probably play an important part in their lives for the rest of mine. But I'd_ really _like to get rid of the sex dreams; it's like rubbing salt in the wound, you know?_

_Plus, I'm sick of waking up two to three times a night thinking of him, and I'm pretty sure my roommate (even though she keeps the weirdest hours as a PhD student) is getting sick of hearing me moaning, or so she says. Do you have any advice on how to get rid of sex dreams? And maybe advice about getting over unrequited loves?_

_Sincerely,_

_Sleepless In Seattle_

“It’s literally the opening to a bad rom-com, I can’t even,” Phil chuckled, folding the last section of the paper and handing it to Melinda. She took it like clockwork, her tendency to read the economics section always almost immediately complementing his penchant for the _Dear Abby._ “And _Sleepless In Seattle?_ Can they get any more unoriginal?” 

“Hey, maybe they are in Seattle,” she said lightly, fighting the urge to rip the paper from his grasp. She was going to _kill_ Natasha. What did she think would happen, writing a letter to Phil’s favorite advice columnist? And about her _sex dreams,_ no less. Apparently, apartment rules didn’t apply when it came to writing the most notorious advice columnist in the city. “What’d Abby say?” 

Phil hummed and handed her back the paper for her to peruse. “You know someone having sex dreams about their best friend?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyone I know of in particular?” 

_Yeah, she’s sitting right across from you here at the diner,_ Melinda wanted to shoot back, but pursed her lips into a thin line instead, reopening the paper to read what Abby’d written back.

_Dear Sleepless,_

_Is it normal to have sex dreams about your best friend? Probably, although I would normally recommend taking action on it eventually._

_Is it normal to have sex dreams about your best friend even after you've pined and processed that he's in a committed relationship? A little less so. It sounds like you've never really fully processed the idea that you'll never get to be with him, despite the fact that you've worked so hard to. If you haven't talked to someone yet about that, I'd suggest that to begin with; it'll help with the unrequited love part, too._

_As for the sex dreams, the only concrete piece I could really give you would be that the best way to get over someone (physically. Only physically) would be to get under someone else. And maybe get your roommate a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, she seems to be hearing a lot she might not want to..._

_Abby_

Melinda sighed. There was a good chance that Abby was right -- she could pull all the late hours at the gym she wanted and punch all the bags she could, but there would always be a small ember of hope that burned bright in hopes that Phil would one day see the extent of the adoration she held for him.

But as it was, Phil’s adoration of Audrey could be palpable from miles away when they were together, smitten cornflower blue eyes always fluttering over the strawberry blonde at his side. It was almost enough to make Melinda puke sometimes, had she not forced herself to keep it down for their sake.

Maybe it was better she try to get under someone else, because as much as much as the young, optimistic version of her (and the present version, it seemed) liked to think that one day he would leave Audrey, the much colder reality of it all was that she’d be watching them cut a towering wedding cake not too far in the future. 

But getting under someone else meant that she would have to go out and _meet_ said person, flirt with them, go through the entire song and dance for what, exactly? A few minutes of thrusting and panting? In exchange for over an hour of having to listen to someone drone on and on about their stock portfolio (or whatever it was people talked about these days)? It was a lose-lose situation all around. 

_If you haven’t talked to someone about that yet, I’d suggest that to begin with_ . Talk to someone about her problems -- funny. The last time she’d done that, in her haze to try to process the loss of the deepest relationship she’d ever had, the therapist had simply asked her to look into the different parts of her and examine them. Whatever _that’d_ meant. Melinda had no intention of repeating that process anytime soon, thank you very much. 

Which meant she was still at square one with the sex dreams. Maybe she _would_ just ask Natasha to start knocking her out at night. Blunt force trauma had to work at least a little bit, right?

* * *

“Your boyfriend’s here.” 

“I don’t have a –” Her coworker Daisy giggled, and Melinda sighed when she saw Phil waving jovially at her from the lobby. “I need to stop falling for that, don’t I?” It was rude of her brain, honestly, to believe that she had an _actual_ boyfriend that was there to take her out for lunch or what-have-you. “Can you watch the gym for five minutes?” she asked, and Daisy nodded. “I just gotta see what he wants.” 

“See what he wants, go out for lunch, get married this afternoon – life is yours for the taking, Mel,” Daisy waved grandly. “However, if you _do_ go out for lunch, can you bring me back something, please and thank you, and if you get married this afternoon let me know or I _will_ send you an embarrassing wedding present.” 

Melinda shuddered. Times like this were when she was glad that Daisy lived with her boyfriend Lincoln instead of with her and Natasha. “I guarantee you that last one’s not happening,” she told Daisy as she exited the small office. _You and me both can keep dreaming._

“I brought lunch” was out of Phil’s mouth before she could even ask, and before she could even register the bag he was holding up, she was smiling. It was just like him to be like that – showing up with lunch, surprising her with gifts, consistently being an open ear for her when she asked for it… Any outsider (or Daisy when she was feeling daring) would’ve put their chips on a relationship between them, they were that close. 

But Phil only brought lunch when Audrey was away being the cellist that toured the world, which meant she’d most likely left for another set of shows that morning. “Where to this time?” she murmured, smile turning appropriately sympathetic to the sadness in his eyes. 

Phil and Audrey had been dating for six years now, and while he’d gotten used to the long absences of her in his life, it didn’t make them any less sad when he had to endure them. It’d been what he’d signed up for, after all. “Portland,” he told her, and she peered into the bag only to be hit with the greased, spicy smell of fried chicken. _Yum._

Melinda could already see Daisy with her nose pressed against the window, no doubt waiting for food or a kiss to happen. “I don’t suppose you –” 

But Phil was already ahead of her, holding an extra bag she hadn’t seen before out as he opened the door to the office. “Don’t worry, Johnson, I brought you some.” 

“You’re the _best,_ Phil,” Daisy exclaimed, pressing a ten into his hand before he could react. “And don’t even think about giving that back to me. I was already planning to make a lunch run today; it just happens you showed up. Now sit and eat lunch with my boss, I’ve got a gym to watch.” With that, she skipped out the door, leaving a confused Phil and amused Melinda in her wake. 

“I was going to say ‘did you bring any for Daisy’, but I see she’s become predictable,” she quipped, sliding Phil a chair when he still didn’t move. “Thank you for doing that, by the way. You didn’t have to.” 

“If you didn’t kill me for not bringing her food, Nat would have,” he said, and neither of them bothered to refute it. Somehow, somewhere, Daisy had wormed her way into all of their hearts without so much as an apology. “Have you seen what they feed her over at the college?” 

“Trust me, I wish I hadn’t.” They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Phil crunching each piece of fried chicken to the death while Melinda chose to take it apart by ligament and tendon. “How long did Audrey say she was going to be gone this time?” 

“Three weeks, this time around. More if the art scouts there like the series they’re putting on.” Sighing, Phil put down his chicken and leaned back to look at her. “How did you do it?” he asked, gesturing with shiny fingers and a half-eaten drumstick. “With Andrew. How’d you two make it work for so long?” 

“Andrew was a long time ago.” Back when she’d believed in the power of the world, back when she’d thought everything she wished into existence would come true. “We were young, and we thought we’d be able to make it work. When you’re in college, you believe everything’s going to work out.” She raised an eyebrow at him, still holding the drumstick pinched between two fingers. “Are you and Audrey...having doubts?” 

_Time to make good on those sex dreams!_ a voice in her head yelled. (Oddly enough, it sounded like Daisy.) _God, do you ever shut up?_ another voice asked. _Just because they want to have a serious conversation doesn’t mean they’re going to break up._ Thank God for the second voice -- Melinda’s dreams were bad enough as it was. 

“I…” Phil looked thoughtful. “When she left this time, something was different,” he said finally. “It was kind of like she was more excited to start again? Like, she was sad that she was leaving. Both of us were.” He sighed heavily, scattering several crumbs over the wax paper. “But there’s something out there for her that she’s missing when she’s here with me, you know? And I want to be able to give that to her.” 

Melinda nodded. She knew exactly what he meant – it was a feeling that’d sat heavy in her own insides once upon a time. “That’s different for everyone. For me and Andrew, it was the fact that I wasn’t _getting_ all of the experiences he was having because I wasn’t experiencing them myself,” she explained softly. “Living on his own for the first time, hosting dinner parties, becoming an integral part of a city he truly loved. He was doing all of those things over in L.A., and I just...wasn’t. Eventually we decided to call it quits because he wanted someone who got him that way, and I just didn’t think I would ever be that type of person.” 

“Ironic, since that’s exactly who you became,” Phil joked, and she snorted. “You really expect me to believe that Nat’s the one behind all of those dinner parties?” 

“Nat cooks, I’m just the one that comes up with the themes,” Melinda crumpled up her last piece of wax paper and leaned back, nodding when it bounced in. “Talk to Audrey. Have that conversation,” she said finally. “Ask her if there’s something that she misses every time she comes home. And not just the things like coffee or a restaurant you both like, or whatever. Does she miss frantic routines, or being given attention all the time? Are there experiences that she’s wants to share with you?” She gave him a glance, black locking with blue. “She loves you, Phil. I don’t doubt that. A conversation’ll do you both good.” 

Another sigh, and Phil’s hands were halfway to rubbing his temples before remembering they were covered in fried chicken grease. “Thanks, Mel,” he said finally, taking the napkin she offered him. “I couldn’t ask for a better best friend, you know that?” 

_Oh, I know,_ she wanted to say. _Have I mentioned it’s a damn shame I keep having sex dreams about you?_

* * *

For the fifth time that night, Natasha wanted to smack her head against the glossy surface that was her open textbook. _Who’d_ thought it was a good idea for her to take on a PhD right after grad school? In fucking classic Russian literature, no less. There was _absolutely_ no reason she would need to use her degree, other than to hang it on her wall. 

Maybe she would drop out and leave it at her MBA. Maybe just become a stripper or something. She’d certainly joked about it with Melinda enough… Frowning, Natasha stretched out a few cricks in her neck as the rustles from Melinda’s bedroom suddenly became much more pronounced. Were the sex dreams starting up again?

 _Yup, that’s definitely a moan._ No matter how many times the dreams occurred, it would always be just as humiliating as the first time; ears burning, Natasha switched off her bedroom lamp before sticking her head into the hallway, listening again for the sound of Melinda’s voice. Another moan. _Hope Mel read the part about the noise-cancelling headphones._

Careful not to make a sound, Natasha tiptoed the short ten feet across the hall, gently creaking Melinda’s room door open far enough that she was able to listen in without invading her privacy. Just as she’d thought, Melinda was tossing and turning in her sheets, occasional sounds dropping out of her mouth like gumballs out of a dispenser. The heat in Natasha’s ears progressed down the rest of her face, and she was ready to back away when a singular word dropped out of Melinda’s mouth: 

_“Phil…”_

With a gasp, Melinda wrenched herself out of sleep, sitting up in bed as if she’d seen a ghost. “Mel?” Natasha asked, pushing open the door even wider. “I was studying and I heard you,” she offered apologetically when her roommate turned towards her. “I wasn’t sure if you were having a nightmare, or...” _Another sex dream_ hung in the air like a chandelier, and it was a tense few seconds before Melinda sighed, pushing her hair back from a sweaty forehead. 

“I hate these goddamn dreams _,_ ” she muttered, and Natasha took that as her cue to walk in, perching herself on the edge of Melinda’s mattress. “I didn’t _ask_ to have sex dreams about him, he’s obviously with Audrey and I’d never do anything to get in the way of them. You know that, Nat.” 

“I do.” Natasha didn’t push, and the look on Melinda’s face made her glad she didn’t. “You’re not a homewrecker, Melinda. I don’t think anyone thought you were to begin with.” 

“But I _shouldn’t_ be having these _dreams,_ ” Melinda said exasperatedly, and Natasha could sense the note of frustration that threatened to break through. “They’re about a man I can’t be in love with and shouldn’t be thinking about loving. They’re about my _best friend_.” 

This was why she’d written to the advice column in the first place – maybe, just _maybe_ , someone would be able to take Melinda’s predicament seriously rather than treat it as a risque dirty little secret between women. It was more than just about the fact that her body was betraying her, it was about the fact that apparently her mind was doing the same. It pained Natasha to see her best friend like this, yet here she was, watching her wake up from yet another dream without an answer. 

“Have you considered talking to someone about it?” Natasha asked, a hand hovering questioningly over Melinda’s shoulder. Melinda nodded, and Natasha gently laid her hand on her friend’s shoulder, thumb rubbing reassuring circles over her clavicle. “Not on a casual level, Melinda. Therapy. It’ll probably be helpful for more than just this, you know.” 

“I know, but you remember what happened the last time I tried therapy,” Melinda sighed, letting her head drop onto Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha said nothing, only continued to rub small circles. She _did_ remember what had happened the last time, and honestly, it was commendable Melinda’d done nothing but walk away -- Natasha would’ve probably punched something. “I don’t suppose you can just use your psychology degree on me?” 

“I could, but we both know my undergrad degree wouldn’t be as good as someone licensed. Someone _better,_ ” she said when Melinda gave her a look. “Plus, we’d probably spend half of the time gossiping about the clients at the gym.” Melinda snorted, and Natasha ran a hand over her hair. “I really want you to find some answers, мой боец,” she murmured. “Not just someone to talk to.” 

Melinda sighed again, sagging into Natasha’s side before catching a glimpse at the time on her friend’s phone. “Fuck, I’ve got to be up again in two and a half hours,” she groaned, sending the pillow a sidelong glance. “You think it’s even worth it trying to go back to sleep?” 

“Could give it a shot,” Natasha said, shrugging. “Or I can go brew you an entire teapot of milk tea, extra sugar, and we can both try to make it through this day together.” 

“Nat, I couldn’t ask you to –“

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Melinda, I’m _offering_.” When Melinda opened her mouth to say something again, Natasha simply gave her a glare. “I don’t have anything to do today, and the last thing I’d want to happen is for you to feel even worse if you had another dream. Let me do this for you, okay?” 

“Kay,” Melinda nodded, already yawning as she tried to pull herself together. “’M gonna go take a cold shower.” 

“That’ll help,” Natasha said, hugging her friend tightly before standing. “I’ll have the tea ready in the kitchen.” 

“Nat?” 

“Yeah, Melinda?” 

Melinda blinked blearily in her direction, smiling despite the hour and circumstances that’d lead to it. “Thanks.” 

* * *

Phil had breakfast. 

He _never_ brought breakfast. 

“Mornin’,” Melinda called through a yawn while she and Natasha staggered to the door, trying to hide tiredness from their gazes as Natasha fumbled for her keys. “I don’t think you’ve ever brought breakfast, what’s the occasion?” _Let it be good news,_ she prayed. She didn’t think she could take an ounce of bad news after the morning she’d had – and it was only 6AM. 

“Audrey called last night,” Phil said, and his voice was so muted, so _defeated,_ that even a sleep-deprived Melinda knew to turn around in concern. “She broke up with me.” 

_Well, shit._ “Nope. We’re not doing this today.” Luckily enough, Natasha was cognizant enough to make decisions for all three of them. “I’m going inside to call the clients, we’re closed for the day,” she called, stepping into their gym. “Mel, Phil, have breakfast. Phil, don’t let Mel fall asleep, she’s been up all night.” 

“All night, huh?” Phil asked, and Melinda could barely muster a half-hearted glare at him. “Hey, I’m not judging.” 

“’S not about me right now,” she argued, nudging him towards the hood of her car. “Audrey broke up with you, Phil. It’s no small thing.” The bag of food landed on the hood with a greasy _plop_ , and Melinda fished out two breakfast burritos before handing one to Phil. “Did she...did she say why?” she asked, studying him with as steady an expression she could muster. She couldn’t imagine Audrey simply up and leaving, but it wasn’t something she would completely rule out. 

Phil opened his mouth, seemingly about to answer before shutting it once more. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, and while his deflection concerned her, she chose not to press. “Let’s pretend for a bit that we’re hungover college students, yeah?” 

It was a strange sight to see for anyone that happened to pass by: three fully-grown adults, all of them dressed to some degree of formality, eating fast-food breakfast burritos with half-lidded eyes and occasionally nodding heads. On more than one occasion, Melinda found herself drifting off onto Phil’s shoulder, only to be denied the sweet embrace of sleep by a gentle push. “You’re not allowed, Mel,” he would remind her gently, and how he managed to keep a smile on his face she would never know. 

What cruel being had decided _he_ would be the one she’d so tragically fall for? 

* * *

_“Is she okay?”_

_“It’s not my place to tell, Phil. She has to tell you herself.”_

_“But she’s okay, right?”_ A sigh, most likely Natasha’s. _“Physically, yeah, she’s fine. Could never be better. Emotionally, on the other hand...”_

Melinda groaned, forcing her eyes open to see Natasha and Phil sitting cross-legged on her apartment floor, watching her with concerned gazes. “Wha’s goin’ on?” How had they gotten back to the apartment? Clumsily, she patted the space around her, making a confused sound when she felt the leather of their worn-out couch. How had she gotten _here_? “Phil? Nat?” 

“You passed out right after we got back into the car,” Natasha offered helpfully, and _boy_ , did Melinda wish she could fall back asleep. The expression on Phil’s face was slightly amused, though, so she supposed her pass-out hadn’t done _too_ much damage. Served her right for thinking she could make it through the day. “Don’t worry, you didn’t say anything embarrassing on the way up here.” 

Knowing Natasha, embarrassing had a wide variety of definitions. Melinda was just going to skate right past it, if not for the sake of her own sanity. “What time is it?” 

“A little bit after eleven. Mel, I hate to do this to you, but my advisor just emailed, she needs me to go in,” Natasha’s eyes were apologetic even as she managed to haul herself off of the ground. “Some funder decided they needed to see proof of our research ahead of schedule, and rumor has it it’s a whole board. I hate men,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Present company excluded, Phil, we love you.” 

Phil just rolled his own eyes, waving her off and taking a swig of the drink in his hand. “If you don’t bring home food we’re teaming up and locking you out of the apartment.” 

“Picky, picky,” Natasha called, grabbing her coat. “Love you, Mel. Jury’s out on Phil, though.” The door slammed shut, leaving Phil to settle back against the couch and Melinda to attempt to wade through just _what_ had happened in the last five minutes. 

“You okay?” Melinda asked after a few minutes, turning her head so she could fully see Phil in her vision. “I’m sorry we haven’t gotten to really discuss what happened.” _Sorry that I let you deflect._ “She left you? I thought you two were good.” 

“Yeah, well, I thought so too,” Phil said bitterly, taking another swig of his drink. “I was going to have that conversation with her, Mel. I swear I was. I guess she just decided there was _nothing_ good about being home with me.” 

_That’s not true_ immediately wanted to trip off of Melinda’s lips, just barely catching herself from letting the words roll out. Had she been Audrey, being with Phil would have been nothing short of a dream. Waking up to see the face of the most inquisitive man in the world, whose life dream was to travel around the country in a camper van trying the iconic foods of every major city, who always knew the right words to say? If Audrey had found another man able to provide that (hell, if she’d found more than one), she was going to need to point Melinda in that direction. 

“Well, she’s wrong,” she told him, and Phil took a larger sip, daring her to prove him wrong. “You...you’re an exceptional man, Phil Coulson. I don’t think I know anyone that’s got a bigger heart than you. To anyone.” 

“I’m sitting on yours and Nat’s floor right now, drinking your good beer. There’s _definitely_ some good hospitality points in there for the both of you.” 

“You’d better hope Nat doesn’t get back and realize you drank it.” Melinda sat up and slid down next to Phil, motioning for the bottle. She was going to need it, apparently. “How long have I known you?” 

“Tw...twelve years?” Wow, undergrad really had been a long time ago. 

“Twelve years.” When Phil opened his mouth to speak, Melinda held the bottle up, motioning for him to be silent. “In those twelve years, I’ve seen you be kind to literally anyone that comes across your path, whether it be the kid whose cat was up a tree or a horde of sorority girls outside Theta Chi. You never stop asking questions until you get the answers for the people who need them. You give when you have none. You can cook worth a damn, and you’re very well the best listener I’ve ever known. Tell me how that doesn’t make someone worth being with. _Tell me_.” 

Phil just laughed with all the bitterness of a mouth full of coffee beans. “Sounds like I picked the wrong person to be with for the last four years, huh?” 

“You did.” The words tumbled out of Melinda’s mouth before she could stop them this time, and it was only _after_ Phil went silent that she realized what she’d said. _Well, shit_. Might as well keep going, then. “But only because I’ve been too much of a coward to tell you for the last twelve.”

If asked, Melinda would admit she had no idea what’d spurred the confession: whether it’d been a knee-jerk reaction to Phil’s self-deprecation, the ridiculous amount of sex dreams she’d been having lately, even the all-nighter she’d attempted to pull, all of it was fair game. But now that she’d made it, there was nowhere to go but forward. “I tried so hard not to fall in love with you,” she exhaled slowly, and it was true; it was imperative Phil know she hadn’t actively wanted to ruin his relationship with Audrey. Or any of the other girls he’d dated during the course of their friendship, for that matter. (Although there _had_ been that one time when they were twenty-five and he’d eaten quinoa for a solid six weeks...) “I _tried_ , Phil, I _tried_.”

She had. She really, really had. She’d dated and flirted night after night in hopes that she’d find another, but at the end of it all, she’d still had to stare at herself in the mirror every time she woke up suddenly in the middle of the night and admit the truth: she was in love with Phil. That would never change. 

“But why?” Phil asked, lips slightly parted and eyes wide in surprise. She might have accidentally dropped a truth bomb, but he was the one that seemed to have trouble processing it. “Why would you ever do that?” 

It was Melinda’s turn to let out the bitter laugh. “Have you _seen_ me, Phil?” she asked, and the still-confused look on his face suggested that no, he did not. “I am a mess crammed into the _facade_ of a working adult, Phil. I’ve basically adopted an undergraduate college student. I eat mac and cheese for _far_ more meals than I care to admit. I keep paying to replace the parts on my car rather than get a new one because of sentimentality. Nat and I drink like we’re still in undergrad, and to top it all off, I’m having sex dreams about you, which is _highly_ inappropriate and something I should _never_ do, yet here we are! I. Am. A. _Mess!_ ” 

Silence reigned supreme in the air for a moment before Phil slowly lowered the bottle of beer from his mouth. She, on the other hand, was already planning how to best escape the country and flee to a secluded island in Scotland where no one would be able to find her for the rest of her life. Maybe she’d start herding sheep. “...sex dreams?” 

“Laugh it up, Phil,” she said dryly, casting a look towards the fridge. If she drank all the Absolut she knew Natasha had in there, she might – just _might –_ forget the barrage of embarrassing things she’d just said. Her chances were good. It was worth a shot, at least. “I’m gonna do my best to forget I ever told you either of these things. Starting with a hell of a lot of vodka.” 

A gently hand closed around her wrist as she got up to go to the kitchen, and she looked down to see Phil with the same expression, except this time, there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “Stay with me for a moment?” he asked, and it was only because she was running on fumes that she sat back down. “I’m not going to laugh at you, first of all,” he said, and it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re my best friend, Mel. I’d never laugh at you for something like this.” 

“Still humiliating, though.” 

“A little bit,” he answered easily. “But I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t say it hasn’t happened to me, too.” At that, Melinda’s head snapped up so fast he half expected to hear the sound follow it. 

“Oh my god.” This _had_ to go somewhere in her Top Ten Instances of Stupid, Melinda ascertained with a flop into Phil’s side. “You mean to tell me we’ve just been the biggest cowards on the face of the planet?” And that she’d put herself through the harrowing experience of being traumatized by sex dreams when she could’ve just had the real thing instead?

“You were in love with Andrew at some point,” Phil reminded her, and while it had been true, it didn’t make Melinda feel any less stupid about the fact that’d it’d taken them essentially twelve years to get to this point. “I fell in love with Audrey, too, somewhere along the way, and I guess she just wasn’t as in love with me.” 

“She was still a fool to have dumped you.” Because while it freed up room for her, it still meant Phil’s heart had been broken. And Melinda would naturally go after anyone who broke Phil’s heart – even if it meant tearing herself down. She exhaled heavily. When had feelings become so _complicated_? 

“Any man would be a fool not to date you. Nope, my turn,” he said when she opened her mouth. “You had your moment. All of those things you mentioned earlier? They don’t make you a _mess,_ Melinda. They make you _you_. They make you a whimsical, spontaneous firecracker of a woman who’s not afraid to let people into your heart. They make you someone who values quality over quantity, who misses the old days long after they’re gone because of what they were able to bring to other people. They make themselves the things I love about you, full stop.”

She’d never seen his eyes so blue, so full of love and light and wanting for _her_ – love that, she realized, had probably been directed at another woman just 24 hours ago. It wasn’t really for her. At least, not yet. 

This needed to be real for both of their sakes, Melinda mused. Not just a need to replace the serotonin that had suddenly gone kaput. If they ended up embarking on something before either of them was ready, it would probably damage their relationship more than any amount of sex dreams ever could. And given the mess that the two of them already seemed to be, that was the last thing they needed. 

“They need to be the things that keep us apart right now,” she sighed finally, holding Phil’s hands in a firm grip when he tried to protest. “Phil, listen to me. Audrey _just_ left you. Four hours ago, you were staring into a breakfast burrito like it was the end of the world.”

“And? Mel, I love you, I’ve loved you since –”

“No. I don’t doubt that you do, but not right now, Phil,” she explained when his face scrunched up adorably. (He really was like a child sometimes.) “Right now, you’re missing a lot of happy chemicals that this little moment is feeding, and you’re missing the closure that should come with ending a relationship. I need to not be your rebound girl. And I don’t think you want that either.” Ah, there it was. “If we’re going to do this, I want us to do this in a space where we’re _both_ in good places, okay?” 

He nodded, fiddling gently with her fingertips without taking his eyes off of hers. “Thank you.” The gratitude was a warm balm that sunk into her soul, calming the lingering worries that remained in her system. “For everything, Mel.” 

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, one hand cradling his face. “Always.” 

“I do have one more question, though.” Melinda raised an eyebrow before nodding. “The sex dreams – were _you_ the one that wrote that _Dear Abby_ –” 

“Oh my _god,_ Phil.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if there's something you'd like to see, I'm taking prompts from [this](https://justanalto.tumblr.com/post/622842304685834240/300-prompts) list!


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